


lovers, dreamers

by pigeonsatdawn



Series: fragments of hope [4]
Category: Purple Hyacinth - Ephemerys & Sophism (Webcomic)
Genre: F/M, Hope, Introspection, Songfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-15
Updated: 2021-02-15
Packaged: 2021-03-17 02:47:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,615
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29464488
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pigeonsatdawn/pseuds/pigeonsatdawn
Summary: they said, there is an inexplicable magic among those who hope.
Relationships: Lauren Sinclair/Kieran White
Series: fragments of hope [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2040089
Comments: 9
Kudos: 38





	lovers, dreamers

**Author's Note:**

> how this happened: i looped [rainbow connection](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FPWzrNuelpc) a little too much the past two days (do listen to it while you read it's an amazing song)
> 
> happy belated birthday kieran this one's for you written literally just now and un-proofread because i don't like you (i'm jk ily you problem child) ❤️

**XX12**

_Why are there so many songs about rainbows  
_ _And what's on the other side?  
_ _Rainbows are visions, but only illusions  
_ _And rainbows have nothing to hide_

They said, in the heart of the city, you could see the arc of the rainbow over the palace’s towers every other day.

Kieran White had never actually seen one, though, until then. He didn’t actually know if the legend holds true or not, because he lived too far from the Royal Palace to find out. He nearly screamed when he first saw the rays of light fracture through the clouds after a day with endless rain, and immediately ran to his mother to drag her out.

She was, as she always was, busying herself around the house. He did not miss the way she kept coughing lately; perhaps it was due to the rainy season which worsened the already pretty terrible quality of air down where they lived. He paused, debating whether or not to take his mother with her outside, when she was already too frail to even breathe.

Before he made his decision, his mom had noticed his contemplation, and immediately asked him about it: “What is it, my dear?”

She never failed to grace him with a smile, one which brightened up his day way more than any sun after a cloudy day could. Who needed suns and rainbows, when he had his mother, alive and with him?

“Nevermind,” he said with a cheeky grin, running to envelope his mother into a hug. She grunted under his weight, chuckling.

“You surely have gotten heavier, Kieran. How old are you now? 15?”

Kieran pulled away, rolling his eyes. “Mom, I’m barely nine.”

“You eat so much, you’re as good as a nineteen-year-old.”

He gave her a grateful smile. “And it’s all thanks to you.”

She ruffled his unruly hair. “You’re my son, I’d do anything for you. Now, why did you suddenly come running into the house?”

“I saw a rainbow!” he squealed, jumping on his toes. “It truly is as beautiful as they say.”

“Oh?” His mother was already moving to the door, Kieran following closely behind, still bubbling with excitement. “A rainbow, from here?”

“Yup!” he popped the ‘p’. When they were outside, he lifted an arm that was nearly half the size of his mother’s, pointing at the array of colors projected in the sky. “There!”

His mother stared at it in awe. “Whoa, it’s been such a long time since I’ve seen one,” she mused.

“You’ve seen one before?”

She nodded. “I used to work close to the river,” she told him, her gaze set towards the distance. “When I got off work, it’d be sunset, and sometimes you can see the rainbow _faaaaar_ over in the 12th precinct, and I’d make a wish.”

Kieran couldn’t help but snort. “A _wish_?”

His mother turned to him with a mildly amused expression. “Yes, a wish. Is there anything odd about that?”

“I mean, aren’t rainbows just… fractured light? That’s what I was taught,” he shrugs.

“Pretty sure _I_ didn’t teach you that,” his mother hums in deep thought. “Who told you that?”

“My friends?” he smiled sheepishly. It was, in fact, his father—who his mother hadn’t talked to in a couple of years, because they had a fallout for some reason he never asked about. Whenever his mother would tell him a legend about the other side of the river, the better part of the city, his father would always reveal the reality of those legends. His father was never very fond of the other side, for some reason, while it had always been his mother’s dream that he could one day experience life over there.

His mother scoffed. “You trust your friends more than your own mother?” she teased. “If it is as they say, that rainbows are just fractured light, then why do they appear so rarely, and only after heavy rain?”

Kieran thought about it for a while, before shrugging. “Who knows?”

“Who knows is correct, and definitely not your friends. Even _I_ don’t know.”

“Then why do you… pray to it?” Kieran asked out of curiosity, looking up to his mother with his small cerulean orbs.

His mother smiled at his innocent complexion, before looking back at the rainbow. “Rainbows are signs of hope, of something new, something better. That’s why they appear after heavy rain.”

“Oooh,” Kieran mused in awe, gaping at the rainbow. Then, after a while, he asked, “What are _you_ hoping for?”

His mother turned to look at him, stroking his head softly as she gave him the fondest smile, the one that always made his heart sting in the best way. “Happiness, always.”

“Are you not happy?” he asked instead.

She shook her head. “Not for me, for _you_.”

Kieran blinked at her several times, not understanding what she meant. “But… I _am_ happy. When I’m with you, I’m always happy.”

He was surprised when tears began to well up the corners of his mother’s eyes. “Oh, Kieran,” she said, before pulling him into a hug.

He didn’t quite understand why she was hoping for something he already had, but he hugged her back anyway. He watched the rainbow flicker as the sun began to set, and under his mother’s philosophy, he made a wish of his own to the rainbow.

He wished his mother happiness—

after all, that was the only way _he_ could be happy.

_So we've been told, and some choose to believe it  
_ _I know they're wrong, wait and see  
_ _Someday we'll find it, the rainbow connection  
_ _The lovers, the dreamers, and me_

☁️ 🌈 ☁️

**XX17**

_Who said that every wish would be heard and answered  
_ _When wished on the morning star?  
_ _Somebody thought of that, and someone believed it  
_ _Look what it's done so far_

Kieran White didn’t always prefer the night sky.

Without the sunlight, there was barely any light for him to draw under. Greychapel wasn’t just known for the abandoned chapel, but rather the way the city seemed to be perpetually submerged in clouds of shadow. This made it hard for him to draw, as the paper itself looked nearly grey and indistinguishable from his very own surroundings.

But lately he’d been finding solace in the nights. It was only during these hours, the couple of hours before twilight, where the dead town was ever completely silent. Under the sun, he could always hear distant wails, crying out for those who had gone. The number only increased by day, and he was getting tired of the depressing aura of it all.

The cries were too infectious to him, to the point that sometimes, he found himself lamenting, and found that he didn’t like the feeling. It was as if he took the principles his mother instilled on him and threw it all away. He didn’t want to do that, not when it was the only connection he could hold on to in those dire years. 

It was a fascinating sight to the newer orphans, who had only been around for a few days. They’d been collected as a result of the Allendale tragedy, which meant that they’d probably lived in the 11th precinct, in the land his mother had always wanted him to experience one day. He had to admit, it was quite ironic—that in the end, even the brightest of cities faced its tragedies, and the same fate as he did. 

“It must be very different here than it is there, isn’t it?” he remarked to a boy who couldn’t sleep that night, and had decided to watch him draw. 

The boy looked up to him with interest. “Have you been here all your life?”

Kieran worked on his sketch for a moment, before turning to the boy. “This precinct? Yeah. It’s home.”

He watched as the younger boy tried, and failed, to mask his expression of pain and pity. It brought out a chuckle in him. “Don’t worry,” he reassured. “I know it’s horrendous here. You don’t have to act like it isn’t.”

“And you’re… okay? With living like this?”

Kieran shrugged, resuming his drawing. “S’not all bad. Well, _wasn’t_ , at least. Then I landed myself here.”

“How… how—” the boy hesitated, and Kieran let out a soft smirk.

“How long have I been in here?” Kieran finished for him, and the boy nodded eagerly. “A while. Nearly two years, I think. I don’t know, I lost count.”

The boy nodded slowly in understanding. After a moment, he mustered up enough courage to ask: “How _did_ you end up… in their custody?”

The corner of Kieran’s lips wavered slightly, but he tried not to let it show, turning his head away from him quickly. “Let’s just say… I was sent here.”

“ _Sent_?” The boy’s tone was thick with disbelief, and Kieran nearly coos over the innocence of it all. 

“More or less. But it’s all the same—none of us chose to be here.”

The boy nodded sadly. They said nothing for a while, only the sound of Kieran’s pencil strokes against the sketchbook filling the tranquil air. The boy next to him threw his head to the sky. “What do you think will happen to us?”

“We’re gonna get out of here, of course.”

The boy snaps his head back to Kieran, who has his head tucked with a little smile on his face. “How do you say that so… confidently?”

“Maybe because I made a wish,” he shrugged, and from the boy’s expression Kieran could tell that the boy wasn’t sure whether he was joking or not. “I’m not joking. Look,” he said, pointing to the bright singular star that shone over them.

“That’s just… a star,” the boy uttered, dumbfounded.

Kieran snorted. “Do you see that a lot in the north?”

The boy seemed to have realized they lived in vastly different sides of the city, and his face fell somber. “Y–yeah,” he stammered. 

Kieran laughed. “You don’t have to be so serious about it. After all, you might have to get used to this for a while,” he told him. “Yeah, you can barely see _anything_ in the skies over here. It’s usually just covered with smoke, or grey clouds, you’d think we were living in different cities.”

“So you think that when you see a star, it means good luck?” the boy asked, but he didn’t sound judgmental, which Kieran appreciated.

“It’s hard to believe,” Kieran admitted, “but… there’s not much left that I have to hold on to, so I can only hold on to the hope that I’ll meet my mother some day. She was the one who taught me how to hope.”

The boy’s mouth fell into an ‘O’ shape. “That… that is nice.”

“It is, and it keeps me alive and determined.” He put down his pencil, turning to face the boy. “Do you have anyone you’re waiting to meet, when you get out of here?”

The boy scoffed, looking at the hands fiddling with the hem of his worn out shirt. “My father,” he muttered. “If he _is_ alive.”

“Don’t lose hope, then,” Kieran said with a grin. “Is there anything that might remind you of him? Or maybe we can pray on the same star, that’s fine too.”

The boy looked up at him with overwhelming emotion in his light grey eyes. “My father was a gardener,” he told him. 

“That’s interesting!” Kieran exclaimed softly. “Say, do you know what flower symbolizes hope?”

The boy pondered on it for a while. “Hm. Irises?”

“Then maybe whenever you see an iris, you can make a wish,” Kieran suggested. “As you’d expect of a dead place, there aren’t many flowers you can find around here, but they do grow once in a while, when the weather clears up.”

The boy hummed. “That’s… a nice idea, actually. Wishing on a flower… never thought I’d be doing that.”

Kieran offered a soft smile at the boy, patting him on the shoulder. “Well you’re gonna have to hold on to _something_ , because we’re getting out of here and going back to our loved ones, alright?”

Nodding eagerly, the boy returned his smile. “Thank you, uh…”

“Kieran. And you?”

“Thank you, Kieran,” the boy said, bashful. “I’m Dylan.”

“Nice to meet you, Dylan,” Kieran replied with a grin. “Here’s to hoping.”

_What's so amazing that keeps us stargazing  
_ _And what do we think we might see?  
_ _Someday we'll find it, the rainbow connection  
_ _The lovers, the dreamers, and me_

☁️ 🌈 ☁️

**XX22**

_All of us under its spell_

It looked like any other Greychapel day—dark skies rumbling like it was going to pour, the trace scent of ash ever present in the air.

Kieran White looked slightly different. He was actually decently dressed for a change: even though he was clad in black, he was wearing a neat suit instead of his regular coat with a sword slung by his hip. His hair was tightly tied into a ponytail, his face free of fresh scars, and in his hand was a flower that wasn’t a purple hyacinth.

He walked towards the altar of the chapel with a stalk of white carnations in hand, his footsteps slowing down right before the podium.

His mother had never been buried, just… discarded, the way they did all the other bodies, so he wasn’t quite sure where to go.

He didn’t think a chapel was the right place, but he didn’t quite want to lament for her death within the walls of the very house they _lived_ in.

Taking a few steps forward, he placed the flower on top of the podium. Then he walked a few steps back, staring ahead—but his mind was empty.

He didn’t know whether to be grateful or resentful to them, for taking his humanity before his mother died. He didn’t feel like crying. Everything felt hollow, much like the abandoned chapel.

Maybe that was why he went to the chapel to begin with. 

He couldn’t be sure. Briefly, he wondered why he was even there to begin with.

So many other souls had died before him. This is just another death.

_No, it wasn’t._

Maybe if he’d never held on to such a foolish hope—maybe he wouldn’t have lost so much more than he already did. In retrospect, everything was so futile, a child’s dream. 

What was he thinking, that a mother’s love could save him out of the clutches of those merciless monsters? That _his belief_ could bring him out of his tragedy? Sheer belief?

His jaw clenched tighter, his nails digging into his palm. 

Hope was too fickle of a thing to hold on to.

He turned on his heel, and walked a few steps down the aisle before pausing in his tracks.

What was left to do, now that the reason for all his doings was gone?

What was left for him, now that there was nothing left to hold on to?

Should he stop himself, before he becomes more of a poison, to himself and to humanity? Should he unravel, let himself be the monster they want him to be? 

Should he keep going?

For what reason?

He felt his knees weaken, but he forced himself standing by sheer will. He felt his eyes pricking, so he pried his eyes open, that his tear ducts would remain shut.

He took a step forward, and then another.

He’d keep going.

He had to keep going.

Maybe that had been his mother’s real prayer: that he didn’t lose hope. But if there was one thing he knew for sure, his mother wouldn’t have hoped for him to stop hoping.

And if all hope was lost—the least he could do was find some.

He owed that to his mother.

_We know that it's probably magic_

☁️ 🌈 ☁️

**XX27**

_Have you been half asleep, and have you heard voices?  
_ _I've heard them calling my name  
_ _Is this the sweet sound that calls the young sailors?  
_ _The voice might be one and the same_

The heart of Ardhalis sure is graced with awe-striking colors. Maybe not in the form of a rainbow, but the splashes of color that fill the sky is one that Kieran White, an artist at heart and an appreciator of nature, can stare at all day. He considers buying himself a set of watercolors and trying out painting for a change, but he doesn’t think he’ll have the time. After all, his hands are more often than not stained with blood these days.

Today, he finds himself gazing at a golden sky, just before sunset. He thinks it is an ethereal color, gold, very characteristic of the sun which lights the city in spite of the sky’s condition. He rarely allows himself to bask in the warm glow, as it reminds him a little too much of what’s lost, but somehow, that day, he does not mind it as much. It’s been a while, anyway. 

He doesn’t think much of the redheaded woman in the corner, who sits with her back to him, gazing at the sky outside the window as her date drones on and on about his life of grandeur. He finds it mildly amusing, but his attention drifts around as he constantly reminds himself to remain vigilant. After all, he _is_ meant to be on a stakeout, not to enjoy coffee like any other person living a regular life.

He sighs into his coffee mug. What he would do to live a day without thinking of murder.

Kieran’s attention is suddenly brought back to the redheaded woman when she suddenly pushes herself out of her seat, the annoying screech of the chair’s legs against the floor causing him to wince. He turns his head to glance at the commotion, and watches as the pretentious man tries to hold her back to prevent her leaving. She yanks the man’s grip with ease, and does not hesitate in calling out his lies— _this_ , he finds highly interesting… especially when combined with the knowledge that the woman is a police officer.

_Definitely_ interesting. 

With the unique ability, a handful of resources, and the zeal that he rarely ever sees in people anymore lately—he knows the officer might be someone he has to look out for, especially considering his targets for tonight are situated in the same precinct. He’s going to have to make sure that he doesn’t mess up his murders, lest he gets himself questioned by the police officer. Then again, he doubts there’s much she’ll be able to do against the Phantom Scythe’s own specialty of covering up murders without a single trace of evidence.

He sips his coffee with a small smile, wondering how such a woman will react when he takes two lives under her nose tonight.

Maybe there is power in thought. All these years, he’s led to believe that there’s not a virtue in believing, much less thinking, but when he sees the color gold against his very own blade, he knows there is something bigger at play than just a series of consecutive events.

Following the mistake he made in miscalculating the technicalities of the double murder, Kieran makes the mistake of letting himself be caught off guard by the very officer, letting herself be pinned down by her, gun against his head, hands cuffed around his back. Of course, he doesn’t plan on staying, but to say that he isn’t bothered by the situation would be a fallacy, even though he makes it look so. 

“I’m an assassin,” he declares with no hesitation, “and I know how to recognize murderous intentions when I see them. You, dearie, clearly won’t be able to pull the trigger.”

When the officer tenses, he, too, knows that she has something of hers taken away from the sight. Her rage when he lies about it only confirms his theory that she has an innate ability for distinguishing lies from truth.

His interest is particularly piqued when she growls very closely to his ear: “Look, I don’t know who you think you are, but I made a _promise_ to find your leader and make sure he faces justice. Whoever I am, you clearly have no idea of what I’m capable of and how far I’m willing to go.”

He looks into her golden eyes in amusement, but the slow-rising feeling in his heart is of a completely different emotion.

_Hope._

_You still have hope._

Kieran laughs, because it is foolish of the officer to have _hope_ , when fighting against the Phantom Scythe—the primary consumer of the very emotion. Those inside, those outside—all hope is lost when it comes to the PS. He knows this better than anyone.

The gold—the color of a spark, a spark ignited in his heart, after a long, lonely struggle in a seemingly hopeless war.

_You’re not the only one._

_I’m not the only one._

Are they a pair of fools, to be holding on to nothing but the dead, memories of those lost?

Or is it true that among those who dream, those who _loved_ , there is a magic that grants serendipity?

He sees her aureate eyes, vividly hued, bright with memory, and he offers her a deal.

Lauren Sinclair flickers like a flame out of touch, setting him ablaze yet cold as winter nights. All too fickle to be holding onto—

but hope is never about knowing. 

The woman quite makes him want to believe.

_I've heard it too many times to ignore it  
_ _It's something that I'm supposed to be_  
_Someday we'll find it, the rainbow connection  
The lovers, the dreamers, and me_

**Author's Note:**

> yuh i still have the song looped
> 
> thank you for reading! kudos and comments are my rainbows ❤️🌈


End file.
